


Ring of Keys and Other Stories VII: Celebrations

by seaofolives



Series: Ring of Keys and Other Stories [7]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Afterlife, Canon Compliant, Force Ghosts, Happy Ending, M/M, POV Baze Malbus, Post-Canon, Post-Movie(s), Post-Rogue One, The Force Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-23 10:32:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10717647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaofolives/pseuds/seaofolives
Summary: Set after the movie canon.





	Ring of Keys and Other Stories VII: Celebrations

When Baze died, he thought he would never see Scarif, again. 

But there it was when he opened his eyes, all fine sands and shoals and blue water and swaying trees like arachnids in the skies. The air was awfully quiet—no striking beams or screams of explosions, fighters swerving overhead and the filtered voices of the Empire’s Troopers. And it smelled clean, crisp and fresh, a relief from the stink of burnt air and burnt flesh. So was this Death all along? 

With a sudden realization, he gasped sharply, like he was gutting himself, and flew up to stare and gape all around him. He sat where he’d died and he was alone. 

He stared at the last place where he saw Chirrut lay supine, and saw only sand. 

“No,” he whispered, quickly getting to his feet, racing the beating of his heart. “No, no, no!” Where was Chirrut? He was just _there_ , he’d said that if he looked for the Force…! 

“Chirrut!” Baze’s scream was a coarse anger burning through the silence. He flung his voice out to the emptiness, spinning like a drunk man in search of it. Why was he alone?! “ _Chirrut!!_ ” Chirrut had said that if he looked for the Force, he would always find him there. And the Force connected all layers of life to each other. So where was he? Was he brought to the right place? 

If this was Death, how could he live again? Was there a way to die again? 

“ _Chirruuut!!_ ” He yelled, doubling over as if that would carry his voice farther.

The responding silence was more than he could take. It was like a cruel deity mocking him. Fear came quickly to him like an unwanted lover, wrapping him in cold, unforgiving arms, suffocating him like an obsession. His breath shook, knees quivering. Where _was he_ —

“Baze?”

It was like an echo that never existed, supplied by his imagination. But Baze was thunderstruck by certainty the moment he heard that distant call that that was _him_. He was _here_. 

He stopped all of a sudden, dropping all his thoughts all at once. He sniffled, wiping his tears hastily before he could be caught crying like a boy and made fun of. “Chirrut?!” For all knew, this could just be an illusion, of course. He was alone, there was no one else to confirm it for him. But then, on the other hand, it was better to go mad than to deal with Chirrut’s non-existence sane. 

Fortunately for him, that didn’t seem like the case. “Baze! Where are you?”

Baze almost jumped and cheered at the reply, still from a great distance though it was. Looking at the horizon, back to where he’d last seen their cargo ship blow up, he doubted Chirrut was anywhere so near. He couldn’t see his shape forming, anyway. If this was a product of his madness, then Chirrut would already be _right there_ , wouldn’t he? Right where his mind wanted him. “I’m down here! At the beach.”

“ _Beach?_ ” Chirrut sounded confused. “Oh!” he said after a moment. “Okay, okay, I remember now. I’m up here on the mesa!”

“The mesa?!” Now it was Baze’s turn to be baffled. If this was his imagination talking, he’d either gone crazier than he _could_ imagine, or he was a lot more creative than he gave himself credit for. His brows joined each other tightly in the middle. What was Jedha doing in Scarif?! Or did Scarif have mesas of its own? It didn’t look like that when they were touching down. “Where is that?” 

“Where _is that_? Really, Baze?!” Baze wasn’t sure but it sounded like Chirrut was laughing. “Come on, Baze! Who raised you?!”

Who raised him?! What a thing to say! Baze opened his mouth to protest. 

“Anyway, look— _listen_ , I mean.You know where to find me so I’m gonna go ahead, okay?”

“What!” Baze barked. 

“Keep up!”

 _Keep up?!_ A blind man was telling _him_ to _keep up_? Baze was bewildered. He supposed if one survived death—if _survive_ was a word that could still be used for them—one enjoyed the feeling of…well, being indestructible. In a way. Chirrut must be over the moon. 

“Chirrut!” Baze called him again. “Chirrut!!” Typical of the man, though, Chirrut went on his foolhardy way, anyway. He snarled, listing down an endless number of items he swore he would do once he’d caught up with that blind fool. Jedha damn him, where was he, anyway?! What mesa? How would he start to find his way?! 

_Look for the Force,_ Chirrut had once told him as he lay dying, _and you will always find me._

Baze’s knees almost collapsed under the weight of his understanding; it was like a planet had come crashing down on him. He couldn’t believe it had taken him _that long_ before he grasped that Chirrut meant for him to use _the Force_ as a compass. Of course! 

How embarrassing. Baze felt the familiar heat of shame rushing up to his face. He’d strayed so far from his faith, he may as well be a child now, learning the first teachings of the Force. He couldn’t even remember the last time he prayed before the last few moments of his lifetime. 

Well, was he not once the most devoted Guardian of them all? Baze figured it was just like muscle memory—or at least he hoped so. 

Rolling his shoulders and popping the bones of his neck, Baze started back the way they came, towards the landing pad. It wasn’t lost to him that he wasn’t really following a suddenly enlightened path of the Force, more so that he was following an age old technique that was proven to work when he least expected it: winging it.

⚭

Making his way to the mesa, Baze began to realize many things. The first was that he felt light. He left the beach without his backpack and his cannons but they’d been nowhere to be found in the first place. And then his bones felt strong, and all of the aches that came with age and a life out on the streets, a life full of risks were gone.

The second was that his kasaya robe still fit him even though it had been years since he’d last worn one. He didn’t notice this until after he realized that the red armor over his collar was gone. He thought that was part of what made things lighter—the kasaya robe wasn’t made simply to distinguish them as the Guardians of the Whills, after all, it was made with form and function in mind. It was in one that he first learned how to fight with his hands—which was why no matter how much time had passed, he still remembered how to move in one without tripping all over his train. 

The third was that the Force wasn’t a secret pathway. It was the belief that wherever he was going, whichever turn he took, he was going the right way. Or as Chirrut would put it, he was following the will of the Force. Baze didn’t stop to think about this until he couldn’t remember the last time he saw those arachnid trees. When he looked back, Scarif no longer existed behind him, hidden as it were by the canyons and swooping dunes that could only come from Jedha. It was a spectacular view, Baze thought, gazing over the vast golden landscape, halfway up the trail that would lead him back to his beloved NiJedha. 

He couldn’t begin to describe how good it felt to be home, again. It was different from the relief of coming back after a long gig offworld, it was sweeter than that. It was closer to the bliss of having reached his final destination, that triumph of having accomplished the last hurdle before the prize. 

Sweeter still, this was the NiJedha that the Empire had never yet touched. Where the walls weren’t rubble and the air didn’t smell like the fumes of their tanks and the ground wasn’t broken by the weight of them. He could see clear skies where there had once been the belly of a Destroyer, he could go wherever he wanted and there would be no Trooper to stop him. This was the NiJedha of his childhood; he could recognize it almost as if it was his own shadow. It was a pleasant discovery but not one, he could say, that surprised him greatly. For this was a perfect world—he understood that much by now. A world where everything made sense, and everything fell into place. 

The city was empty but he didn’t need it to be full. He passed through the once-bustling marketplace and found himself a full body mirror suspended off a hook at the side of a dubious antique shop. The reflection that looked back to him was off-putting—quite simply, he looked like a homeless man who’d been dressed by the Guardians out of pity. He was the main character in a story about charity and compassion. Which was to say: he looked like a charity case. That was unnerving. 

The leather bindings had to go—there was no going around them. Baze had never bothered with them in the past, they were just things hanging down the sides of his collar, to keep his hair off his mind, useful especially when sniping someone. Chirrut liked to pull on them when he was being playful, singing _ding dong_ as he laid on his lap but aside from being a cat’s toy, there was no longer any use for them. 

The ends came free with one determined tug each. Little by little, the old straps unraveled and fell off. He gathered the rest of his wavy locks to the top of his head where he looped them and knotted them and sealed them in place with an elastic band. The result still wasn’t all that impressive, but at least he was cleaner and he looked more like he was in his element. 

Now he could say he truly was ready—ready to leave the past behind, ready to face eternity. Without a second glance, Baze moved on. He knew where to find Chirrut, of course. He realized a bit late that he always had. 

High above him, the Temple of the Kyber loomed ever closer—a massive monolith of faith and knowledge erected near the edge of the mesa. For as long as he could remember, it had become nothing more than a shadow of what once was, a monument for everything that was broken and gone. Now it glimmered under the light of the unseen sun, a promise of many tomorrows. 

That started now—with a man in his own kasaya robe who sat on the temple steps, welcoming him with a grin. He was…as he had remembered him—not as he had left him. Carefree. Strong. _Alive_. He couldn’t see where he’d left his staff but Chirrut didn’t look like he’d noticed either. He shined like a changed man, glowing with a star within, brimming in its light. Was it any surprise that the Force looked good on him? 

Baze smiled in contentment. He would say it to him, he would tell it as a joke. He missed the sound of Chirrut’s honest laughter. 

Chirrut leaned forward, arms on his knees, as if to look at him better. Baze stood still, a man carved straight out of patience while Chirrut satisfied himself with his appearance. He could feel his heart bursting for no other reason than that he had finally come so close to the man he loved the most. Then with a decisive nod, Chirrut passed his judgment. “Took you long enough.”

Baze’s mouth fell wide open, and all the light that seemed to fill the place suddenly grew dimmer—or maybe that was just his own eyesight and his rising temper. What a thing to say to welcome him! And after a long journey without a map. He’d perceived differently—this Chirrut was _still_ the same man! Impudent, stubborn, infuriating. 

“Took me long enough?” He sputtered in absolute surprise. He jabbed a finger to himself and demanded, “Took _me_ long enough?!” Chirrut laughed at him. Well, he got what he wanted but it was at his expense. And just the nerve of this man, really! “If you didn’t like me taking _long enough_ , then you shouldn’t have gone and run off like that in the middle of a war zone!” he cried, marching, stomping his way up to Chirrut’s damn throne.

“Technically, I walked,” Chirrut argued, non-plussed. He shrugged, watching Baze’s swift progress. “Come now, how could a blind man run off?”

“It’s all the same!” Baze roared. Walking, running…the method in which he left him was not the point, the point was that he was accusing him for being too slow when in the first place, _he left him_. When they’d stuck together when Jedha fell, when they’d looked after each other in the forests of Scarif…at the end of it all, at the most vital point of their lives, Chirrut _still_ left him. In spite of all the care they’d taken, _he’d_ taken, Chirrut still did the _one thing_ he shouldn’t have done to stay alive. Impudent. _Stubborn._ Infuriating!

His knees gave in under the power of his emotions, one step away from Chirrut’s position. Chirrut, the Force smite him, only looked on with a smile like an apology—but one worn without regrets. Baze stared at it, at _him_ , incredulous. “You _still_ left me,” he said, gaze turned upwards. “After all this time…after all that I did to keep us together…Chirrut, how could you just leave me like that? How could you have just…let yourself die! Like that? Without a fight?” A hand fell on his chest. “Without _me_?”

From one side, Chirrut tilted his head slightly to another. His smile remained unchanged, but it spoke volumes where his tongue chose silence. Finally, he moved lower, closer to his heartbroken, grieving partner, and reached up to touch his cheek.

“Baze,” he began, dark eyes looking into his. He looked cheerful for all the crime that he committed. “Did you think I would go, knowing you wouldn’t follow? That world didn’t belong to us anymore, and neither did we belong to it anymore. If I hadn’t pushed the master switch, what do you think would have happened?” 

They’d have lost their side of the battle, that much was certain. The only question they had to ask was how it would happen. Death. Captivity, then death. Captivity, torture, perhaps a long episode of it, then ultimately death. Even if some foolish, optimistic side of Baze might argue that they could still have had the slightest opportunity to survive, escape and live, he realized he would still prefer death than to see Chirrut captured and tortured. Or for either of them to be used as a tool for the submission of the other.

Now Baze saw his faithlessness plain. Did he really think Chirrut would leave him just like that? Of course not. Of course Chirrut, of all, wouldn’t do that. His best friend, the man he loved and who loved him back, the other half of his soul. Now, more than ever, Baze understood that. That Chirrut knew what he was doing all along, what he _would be_ doing. And what laid in wait for them beyond life, death, and all that came with it.

“Chirrut,” Baze gasped softly, reaching up to catch his cheeks with trembling fingers. Dark eyes looked back into dark eyes, living pupils following each other. He choked out his surprise, “You can see?!”

Chirrut beamed, chuckling at the base of his throat. With another self-affirming nod, lips pressed in the same way, he delivered another merciless verdict: “Took you long enough.”

This time, Baze responded with loud, ugly laughter, barking unstoppably as if Chirrut had just dropped the funniest joke in the entire galaxy when all he’d spoken was the simple truth. It came through his mouth and painfully, out of his nose. It came even as his tears flowed, spilling quickly like a waterfall. They mingled with his joy, masked under all that laughter—but it wasn’t long until they drowned his cheer. And then he was crying helplessly.

It wasn’t sadness that drove him, it was just…everything. The fear, the relief, the anger, the joy. He covered his face and wept, full of shame and hilarity; he was laughing at himself and his doubts which embarrassed him. Chirrut took him in his arms and whispered sweet hushes. Deft fingers picked at his hair band until it came off and his locks fell around him. Those same fingers ran through them like an instrument, stroking the same chords, playing the same music that would calm him down. This huge baby called _Baze_.

“It’s okay,” Chirrut sang softly to his ear, kissing it lightly. “It’s okay! Why are you such a crybaby?” he laughed, and sniffled. “We should be celebrating this happy reunion. You and I, together again!”

He and Chirrut, together again. It was the sweetest thing that Baze could have ever heard after all the heartache and the beating but he couldn’t stop. It felt like now that all the fighting was over and all the grief had ended, there was nothing left to do but to cry until he felt sick.

When he let Chirrut peel his hands from his eyes, he was still choking and gasping and leaking all over. Chirrut tittered underneath his own tears, stroking away a graying lock, tucking it behind an ear. “You’re such a sap!” he said, taking his face with both hands to cover it in kisses, like he was drinking his tears and closing his wounds. “My poor, crying Baze is such a sap.”

“You’re one to talk,” Baze croaked, wrapping his fingers over one of Chirrut’s hands. “You’re worse—you’re the pot calling the kettle black!”

“And we wonder why?” Chirrut choked, smiling. “It’s tears of joy, fool. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you!”

“Idiot,” Baze chuckled. “And that’s supposed to make me feel bad? C’mere.” Reaching to the back of Chirrut’s neck, he drew him for a hungry kiss. Their lips opened up and met in sweetness, containing a private world of wonder within them, warm and familiar. A place like home. So this was how forever felt, Baze thought. This was how it started. He felt so much like a young man again, sharing his first kiss under the eaves of a tree in full bloom.

Chirrut slid down his lap and sat awkwardly, putting Baze between his legs. His fingers made a nest within those long locks as they so often did when they renewed their kiss. Baze slipped a hand between his robe and his flesh to pull him closer, receiving a delightful moan from the man in response.

They stopped to breathe, their lips bruised but hungry still. Baze inhaled Chirrut’s scent which reminded him of nectar and the wood from fragrant trees, no longer of the soil of foreign lands, of cannon smoke and the salt in the sea breeze. He felt a keen temptation to start with his neck but knew better than to rush. Not after they’d waited for each other for so long. 

“So when do we start?” he asked instead, brushing the back of his fingers on Chirrut’s damp cheek.

Chirrut’s brows wrinkled briefly as he canted his head sideways again. He looked almost boyish as he did it now that he had regained his dark eyes, and Baze wanted to kiss him more than ever. “Start with what?” he replied.

“The celebration. You wanted one, didn’t you?” Baze said, bearing his weight on the step he sat on. “Or we could just sit here and admire NiJedha, I’m fine with that. We have all the time in the galaxy to do what we want with.”

“Okay,” Chirrut said, nodding while he wiped his face on his sleeves. “Do you want me to pull out a rocking chair for you too, grandfather?” His forearm was up even before Baze’s swinging fist connected with it. The impact cracked sharply in the silence, later replaced by Chirrut’s happy laughter.

“You’d like that!” Baze scowled. 

“An eternity of this, are you sure you’re ready?” Chirrut cackled. He fell back to the steps before Baze could retaliate and lifted himself up in a handstand, legs swinging upwards smoothly to bring himself down to the landing before the sealed gates of the Temple of the Kyber—and he did it all without wasting a breath, not even a sound. If he had to compare it with some worldly thing, Baze would be stumped. The Force could give him another lifetime for it and it still won’t be enough time.

An eternity of that. Baze decided he was ready for it.

Crouching near the step, Chirrut folded his arms on his knees, smiling down at him. “You’re sure you don’t want to come inside? You look like you could use a homecoming party.”

“A _homecoming party,_ ” Baze snorted, shaking his head. “That’s what you’re calling it now? One day, you’re going to run out of jokes and innuendos.”

“Want to find out?” Chirrut challenged him, holding out a hand like an invitation.

Baze couldn’t remember the last time Chirrut moved so brazenly. Pockets of intimacy had been a luxury for the both of them, who lived by the rules of instincts and practicality to survive and make ends meet. Stay alive, together until time was up. Now it seemed it was time to reap what they’d sown. They both knew the point was not in the finding out, of course, that was just something silly for Chirrut to say. 

It was in his hand slipping onto Chirrut’s, and their fingers wrapping around each other. The brush of skin on skin was electrifying, each tiny spark sending shivers up his flesh and a smile up his face. Had he really felt that hand go limp and cold in his? Even if he did, what did it matter now? To him, Chirrut was alive again. And that was that. 

They rose, hand-in-hand, eyes locked onto each other as Chirrut moved back and eased the doors open. There would be yet another life to revisit in there, another world to rediscover. They could go on and on reliving the old days, the good ones and the bad ones, just because they could.

What they did with the time they were given, it didn’t matter anymore. So long as they could do it together.


End file.
